


The Fine Print

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Bilbo Has Issues, Bilbo is So Done, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, It's really embarrassing how schmoopy Thorin is in this, Khuzdul, King Thorin, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Bilbo, Poor Bilbo, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, Thorin is a Softie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been many years since Bilbo had seen his Dwarves. Driven by his loneliness and nostalgia, one night he decided to re-read the contract he had signed so many years ago, hoping to find catharsis. Instead, what he found was burning rage at all the ridiculous clauses the Dwarves had slipped in without his notice.<br/>In the end, Bilbo knew there was only one thing to do.<br/>He would travel to Erebor, and have very specific <em>words</em> with the King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Hobbit Big Bang, with artwork by [penumbria](http://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/pseuds/penumbria/works?fandom_id=541478) and [mithrilbikini!](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com) Thanks so much you guys!  
> ALL FIVE chapters are going to be posted at once, so make sure you guys read 'em all!
> 
> Penumbria's art for this can also be found [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6779254)
> 
> In my mind, this is set about 10 years after BOTFA.

Bilbo gingerly knelt on the hardwood floorboards, wincing slightly at his aching joints. Trembling fingers reached out, smoothing along the worn wooden surface of his mother’s glory box. The box sat in the hallway of Bag End, in plain sight, yet rarely opened; a constant, aching reminder endlessly tormenting the smial’s owner.

In plain sight, yet free from the prying eyes of relatives – hardly anyone would expect to find much inside a deceased woman’s hope chest, save for linens and moth-ridden clothes.

In fact, had any foolish relative been smart (not to mention nosey) enough to take a peek inside, they would have found Mad Baggins’ most treasured possessions.

Bilbo took in a deep, shaky breath. Rarely did he treat himself to the painful pleasure of reminiscence, yet tonight his nostalgia proved unbearable. He could not simply lock himself in his study and pour his anguished heart out into writing; he needed to see the past before his very eyes, to feel the weight of his precious mementos.

“Oh,” he gasped as he lifted the heavy lid, confronted by his sheathed letter-opener. Lifting the sword, he reveled in the familiar heft in his hands, running a finger along the swirling decorations on the leather scabbard.

Amongst scrolls and leather-bound books and feather quills lay a bear-shaped chess piece, far too large for any Shire-sized game. The hobbit snorted as a voice growled in his ear,  _ Little bunny is getting nice and fat again… _

_ Nice and fat, indeed, _ Bilbo thought, patting his pleasantly rounded stomach.  _ No thanks to those blasted Dwarves. _

He removed the iron helmet and the large ivory claw, stomach roiling at the memory. The hobbit’s nose wrinkled as a sudden scent wafted up – the chest from the troll hoard had been revealed, a pervading stench impossible to eradicate.

But never mind that – the wealthy bachelor had no need for those coins, and the scent alone was more of a reminder of that night than he would ever need.

The rearrangement had revealed something else. Bilbo had to swallow against his suddenly dry throat as his eyes skimmed over the rolled up parchment:  _ Deed of Contract _ . The thick paper was yellow-white, long pages bound together by a thin green ribbon.

Without a second consideration, Bilbo’s thick fingers wrapped around the scroll.

The Hobbit ambled towards his study room, lighting a candle and settling at his desk. His fingers tingled excitedly as they untied the ribbon, reveling in the rough-smoothness of the parchment.

_ Conditions of Engagement _ it began, in swirling red and black cursive. The ink was thickly painted on, decorated with elaborate curlicues. The sharp twists and curves were so unlike Hobbitish writing; too thick and ostentatious to be Elvish, and far too decorated and pompous for the likes of Men. No, this was a Dwarvish contract, though Bilbo would have not appreciated the unique style when first he laid eyes upon it.

For all that it was elaborately detailed, it was also a disorganized mess: words lined the margins, addendums thrown in askew wherever they fit.

Carefully unfurling the scroll, Bilbo watched in nostalgic annoyance as the contract rolled out, well over five feet. Why, it was almost twice his height! How could he have been expected to read the whole thing in one night? Pah, he was lucky there were no hidden terms to which he agreed unknowingly!

But it mattered not anymore; the Quest turned out – well, better than anyone could have dared imagine. Erebor was reclaimed, Smaug the Beast was dead, and Bilbo…

Well, Bilbo was home. Right where he belonged…Back at Bag End, as he had wished the entire time he was away.

The Hobbit swallowed thickly; unknowingly his fingers traced over the ink, back and forth, as if trying to commit every single twist to memory.

_ Signed: Thorin son of Thrain. _

Oh, but it was such a striking script; no one could blame a Hobbit for appreciating the beautiful calligraphy. And beautiful it was – flourishing and elaborate, but easily read. Even Balin’s signature could not compare, looking almost rushed in its small, cramped letters.

And then there was Bilbo’s own signature. He laughed dryly, rubbing a hand over his mouth. All his memories of the Quest were so clear – yet this, he struggled to recall. It had all happened in a great rush; waking up to an empty house and realizing…realizing…

Well, he had been much younger than, full of foolish hopes and dreams. It was an easy thing, throwing whatever silly things he thought he would need (and leaving behind everything he truly  _ would _ need) into a rucksack and running out the door.

His writing looked out of place amongst the sloping curves. Almost rigid in its form. No unexpected curves or flourished lines – straightforward.  _ Bilbo Baggins _ . Absolutely nothing unexpected or exciting, just as a proper Baggins should be.

But he wasn’t a Baggins, was he? Not anymore, as much as the moniker  _ Mad Baggins _ followed him everywhere.

_ You are khuzd-buhêl. _

The words had been whispered, not out of fear of being overheard, but in intimacy. Large warm hands clasped over his shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze.

_ Dwarf-friend. _

A helpless whimper forced its way up the Hobbit’s throat, too quick to be tamped down. Words that meant so much to him, yet were never acted upon. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the sudden burning. He was far too old for such foolishness.

As betraying as his emotions were, perhaps spending a night reading the document thoroughly would bring him release. Catharsis, even.

With a sigh, the Hobbit settled comfortably in his chair, looking back up to the very top of the long, long, long…contract.

_ Agreed hereto, freely and under neither duress nor force nor coercion…  _ Bilbo paused, snorting with laughter. It seemed the contract had been voided from the start, for Bilbo could not say he had been under no coercion. After all, a certain meddling wizard had a way of convincing people to do things they would never believe.

As Bilbo continued reading, he was careful not to miss a single word. Especially not the tiny print forced between paragraphs, nor the sideways lines bordering the paper. As a matter of fact, it was this careful perusal that Bilbo so desperately missed the first time he had been confronted with the document.

And the Dwarves were rather lucky for it; if they had thought Bilbo had thrown a fit when they trashed his dear home, they would have been in for a real surprise.

“Base funeral to ‘commoner’ or peasant standard is allowed for only,” Bilbo read quietly to himself. “A commoner, indeed!” he yelled, crossing his arms with a huff. “Do you even know who I am? My father came from the most respectable family in the entire Shire, and my mother was the daughter of Old Took himself!”

Bilbo likely should have put the contract away at this point. In their defense, the Dwarves had had no idea who they were hiring. It wasn’t entirely fair to get into a right fuss over such trivial matters, especially something from so long ago.

Surely Bilbo could have rolled the contract up, tied the ribbon back on, and put it in the chest where it belonged. He would not look at it again, not for days, weeks, even years. Perhaps ever.  He would go back to his simple life in the rolling hills of the Shire, trying to make a peaceful, dull existence work.

Then again, Bilbo had what he liked to call a Tookish streak, striking him at odd and decidedly inconvenient times. It had gotten him into trouble in the past, and would certainly do so again.

But for all the trouble it caused, it also brought about unbelievable changes, often for the better.


	2. Chapter Two

Apparently, had Bilbo died trying to take back the Arkenstone, he would have been thrown in a plain pine box without any ceremony. In fact, his body would not have even been returned to the Shire. The Hobbit shuddered to think of wolves tearing into such a thin barrier, gnawing away at his cold, hard limbs.

“Oh, this is rich!” Bilbo exclaimed as his eyes skimmed over a previously missed section. “‘Unequal relative stature of Burglar’ –” and goodness, did he hate being referred to as such! Could they not even bother to put in his name? “‘And any discovered guardian, occupier or squatter’ – sweet Eru, I wonder who that could be!” The Hobbit shook his head, continuing on, “‘Shall not constitute or be considered as grounds for refusal nor excuse against undertaking the forceful removal of said undesirable guest.’

“Un _ equal _ stature?” he repeated. “You take a member of the  _ smallest race in all of Arda _ up against a bloody  _ dragon _ , and refer to it as unequal stature? Oh, damn you all, you obdurate, cloth-headed Dwarves!”

In spite of the hot licks of anger slowly building in his chest, the Hobbit continued his reading, to his own detriment.

“‘Conditions subsequently appended or added to this Contract are automatically assumed to be agreed upon, as if they were present, read and understood at the signing and witnessing hereof.’”

Bilbo’s voice turned embarrassingly squeaky as he read aloud, jaw dropping in disbelief. “That damn Dwarf! He could have decided that – that I – well, he could have decided anything! And I’d be forced to go along with it!”

Grumbling, the Hobbit read on.

“The Company could change the Agreement whenever they felt like it, without even telling me. Yet I’d have to have everything in writing, plus signed and witnessed? If this is how all Dwarves do business, well – I’m mighty surprised anyone trades with them at all!

“‘Breaches…shall be heard, pleaded, debated, defended, answered and judged in a country of the Company’s choosing and at a time and date of Company’s choosing. Burglar’s failure to appear…’ Aulë damn you,” the Hobbit cursed. “‘Failure to appear constitutes acquiescence with Company’s ruling on the matter.’

“Oh, yes, well it would only take me  _ half an entire year _ to get to Erebor, where no doubt you would choose to hold such a thing! And – and what’s this? ‘All pleas shall be pleaded, shrewed, defended, answered, debated and judged in the Dwarvish Tongue!?’”

Bilbo leapt from his seat, too irate to remain sitting a moment longer. “I would have to plead in  _ an ancient, secret language _ I’m not even allowed to  _ learn _ ? How – how dare they! They all know the Common Tongue perfectly well, yet apparently Westron is too bloody  _ simple  _ for these terrible, fussy, idiotic, convoluted Dwarves!”

As Bilbo vented, his finger wagged angrily at inanimate objects in the study room, large hairy feet pacing holes in the floor. He stormed back over to his desk, bending over the scroll. He was far too aggravated to sit a moment longer, but he was certainly determined to find out what other crazy things to which he had foolishly agreed to.

As the Burglar Gandalf had declared him to be, Bilbo was meant to carry an assortment of ‘Tools of the Trade.’ It was laughable, really, to believe a Baggins would have such things as  _ skeleton keys _ or pry-bars! And to ‘remedy any deficiency by burglarious means’? Pah! How improper, indeed!

The contract continued on, declaring Bilbo the Company’s supplier of ‘pipeweed and other such luxury items…not only for himself, but for the other members of the Company.’ Once again, he was expected to obtain things things ‘by means pertinent to his profession.’

Thorin must have been dropped on his head several times, Bilbo decided. In fact, this document alone, were it ever found, would likely lead to the usurpation of his throne! How could such a ridiculous fool be in charge of an entire kingdom?

Ah, yes. Bilbo really should have worried less about a  _ furnace with wings _ , and instead focused on the fine print.

“I waived away my rights to  _ what _ !?” he yelped, thrusting the contract under his nose to desperately re-read the line.

Bilbo did not sleep a wink that night. Catharsis he had craved, yet it had had the opposite effect. He had not been so angry since returning to Bag End, only to find the smial ransacked by the very people he had once called friend and neighbour. Even as the sun rose, Bilbo’s rage only increased. His bacon burnt well past the point of crispy as he stood yelling at the air, his eggs beaten to a yolky mess as he jabbed at his intended omelette with a spatula. And if he imagined a certain King’s sharp, angular face in place of the white-yellow dish – well, it was catharsis he was seeking, after all.

But as time went on, it became clear Bilbo was not to find any relief. The nostalgia and inertia that had been hanging around the old bachelor like a particularly gloomy cloud was all but gone, replaced with white-hot, burning rage. In the end, Bilbo knew there was only one thing to do for it.

He would travel to Erebor, and have very specific  _ words _ with the King.


	3. Chapter Three

Livid as he was, Bilbo’s first venture to Erebor had taught him well. Even as his heart skipped excited beats, he took his time packing his bag for travel. Maps and compasses, thick clothes and a warm overcoat, a waterskin and an abundance of handkerchiefs. Sting was strapped to his side – polished and sharp as ever, thanks to its Elvish make – and a tunic of Mithril worn under all his layers. A detailed letter was prepared and left for his gardener, Hamfast, with clear instructions. Never again would he be presumed dead; and were he to truly die after all, Bag End and all its possessions would go to his cousins Drogo and Primula Baggins, who were raising a quiet, adventure-loving lad named Frodo. He also stopped by the market, packing as many foods as he could that would be suitable for a long journey. The peculiar, suspicious looks he received every time he left his smial had ceased to bother Bilbo long ago, and today he reveled in them with a strange satisfaction.

All too soon, and after far too long, Bilbo was off on one last adventure, seeking the home in which his heart had settled many years ago.

Bilbo longed to retrace his steps, but as confident and self-assured as he was, Bilbo was no fool. Were he to traverse the Ettenmoors and come across another band of trolls, there would be no rescue in the form of a grey-hatted wizard. Even Bilbo’s silver tongue could likely not escape the same fate twice.

Taking a direct route to Rivendell saved the Hobbit some time, and Elrond was a most gracious host. Bilbo enjoyed his stay rather much, and while his time was filled with songs and poems and intelligent company, he found himself awake at night, feet unconsciously leading him along the same paths he had walked before…only in that lifetime, he had had a presence by his side. Silent but looming, Thorin had revealed many things that night. It had been a step forward in their ever-evolving relation –  friendship, the Hobbit corrected himself foolishly.

The terse Dwarf did not like to speak of himself, and Bilbo had taken all the information in like water in a desert. Of being born in darkness, underground. Seeking comfort in the fireflies on the roof, the only light the young dwarfling could find.

Finding himself back on these steps, Bilbo couldn’t help a flight of fanciful thought – would they have traded stories of their childhood? Revealed deeper and more intimate memories as the night waned on? It was impossible to say, given their interruption. Thorin had been reminded of his duties as King of a lost people, the failure of his ancestors, and his own perceived failure before it had even occurred.

Fond of Lord Elrond as he was, Bilbo remembered with aching clarity the pained look in Thorin’s eyes. The Dwarf had turned away, hopeless and despairing. He had soon departed, holing up in a private room for the rest of the night. The carefully built camaraderie between them had been shattered in a single moment, taking weeks to be re-forged.

When it came time to depart once more, Elrond accorded Bilbo a small envoy to Mirkwood. The company was appreciated for the most part, though they were much more reserved than the Dwarves to whom Bilbo was accustomed. (Even years apart could not weaken that bond, for Bilbo had not been in another’s presence very long since the Company.) But it gave him a chance to brush up on his Sindarin, finally perfecting every accent and tone.

With Bilbo’s help, they stopped at Beorn’s. The skin-changer had not changed a bit, and the name  _ little bunny _ only brought a smile to the Hobbit’s wrinkled face. Next came Mirkwood, which was far more impressive now that he was a proper guest. The elves of Rivendell bid him farewell, replaced by a new envoy led by none other than the Lady Tauriel. She and Bilbo had grown very close in the weeks it took for their Durins to recover. Bilbo was not sure he could have made it without her quiet, graceful strength. They had tried to keep in touch, but written correspondence was hard for the young she-Elf, who loved to explore the lands. Bilbo was happy for her and Kíli, of course, and enjoyed her stories very much. But they also came with the pang of regret as Bilbo thought of all the years he had spent isolated in Bag End, reclusive and terribly, achingly alone.

They passed by the Long Lake in reminiscent silence. Bilbo wondered if the dragon’s corpse was rotting away underneath the watery depths… Stomach churning, he vowed not to eat any fish while he was in Dale. He was glad the Menfolk had not been foolish enough to attempt a rebuilding of Lake-town, instead focusing on the old city on dry land. His Hobbit sensibilities left him shuddering at the memory of the town built entirely of wooden pillars and planks, swaying precariously over deep, dark waters.

King Bard welcomed the travellers with open arms, allowing Bilbo a stay overnight in his private home. Bard lived comfortably yet modestly, refusing to let his position go to his head. It was startling at first to see his children all grown-up, the eldest two with families of their own. As Bilbo slept that night in an overly large cot far too high off the ground, he found his shiftless gaze ever searching for the peak just ahead.

The morning they were to arrive at Erebor, Bilbo found his excitement overruling his ire. But that would not do – he did not travel all this way, to let petty emotions take over his senses!

Spitefully, the Hobbit looked over the contract once more, reminding himself of all the things he had to be angry about. And make no mistake; in Bilbo’s mind, there was an abundance of slights and wounds for which he demanded retribution.

When the guards at the Mountain’s entrance learned of who he was, a very strange thing happened – the Dwarves were tripping over themselves to accommodate him, taking his bags, offering to bring him food and good drink, promising rooms in the Royal Wing to be readied immediately.

Bilbo glanced over at Tauriel, confused and utterly baffled. The Captain of the Guard’s face remained blank, save for the telltale twitching of her lips.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Keep your secrets! But none of this posh propriety; I demand to see your King immediately.”

Without another word, Bilbo marched forward, ignoring Tauriel’s light, tinkering laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Mentions of Thorin’s childhood come from an interview in which Richard Armitage said in reference to a scene in Rivendell: “'Actually, that was at the end of a much longer scene, which I played with Bilbo on those steps, where I talked about where I was born, and seeing fireflies on the roof; being born in darkness, underground; and then it cuts to that overheard conversation.'”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork for this chapter is done by the amazingly talented mithrilbikin, and can also be found [here on tumblr!](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/post/145369165427/the-art-for-airebellahs-forthcoming-hobbit-big)

No matter how many years he had been away from Erebor – and how short his stay had been – Bilbo could never forget the layout. It was ingrained in his heart, inked onto a variety of maps. The Dwarves would likely throw a fit if they knew their secret home was detailed on a simple Hobbit’s map back in the Shire, but, well – they needn’t know.

Thus Bilbo knew all too well where the guards were leading him – to the council room. The thought of seeing Thorin seated on his throne, thick raven hair adorned with a black-and-gold crown, robes furred and richly adorned made Bilbo’s stomach clench uneasily. Palms sweaty, he fidgeted with his waistcoat.

But that would not do; he was not cowed by Thorin’s status along the Quest, and he had even been employed by the King at that time! Now he had no such attachment…and that was _good_ , it was good, he had to remind himself. He need not fear retribution for giving the idiotic, hare-brained, reckless fool of a Dwarf a well-deserved tongue-lashing!

As they approached, the Dwarves standing guard stood to attention, inching towards the doorway.

“Council meeting in session,” one of them spoke.

Bilbo sucked his teeth, lips pursing. He had not come this far to have this important business be _delayed_ for a meeting!

“Do you know who I am?” Bilbo asked, coming to stand directly in front of the guard.

The words had their desired effect, confirming Bilbo’s suspicions. He was not sure what ridiculousness the Company had spread about him, but he was going to work it to his advantage. The guard swallowed thickly, exchanging a glance with his partner.

“Master Hobbit, sir, I’m afraid I can’t let –”

“You can and you _will,”_ Bilbo interrupted, wagging a finger in the Dwarf’s hairy face. “Unless you would like to face your King’s wrath when he learns a dear – a-a member of the Company was turned away like some – some _Elvish_ dignitary!”

“Apologies, Master Hobbit, sir,” the guard said, bowing stiffly before a fierce glare had him aborting the action in favour of opening the heavy door.

Bilbo charged inside without another word, ignoring the pounding in his chest. A thick carpet led from the door to the front of the room surrounded by two long tables on each side. Most of the Dwarves were on their feet, ignoring any sense of propriety _(what a surprise)_ in order to yell at each other better. But silence quickly fell upon the room, slack-jawed gazes all turning to one small creature. Bilbo determinedly kept his head high, eyes lifting to pin his target.

The Hobbit’s large feet stumbled as he first laid eyes upon the aging King. Thorin’s head drooped forward, one large paw obscuring his features from sight as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation. Long waves of hair fell past his shoulders, beautiful glimmering strands of mithril. The painfully reminiscent raven crown had been replaced; in its stead was a gold crown, still thickly carved and ingrained with geometric patterns, but far less ostentatious.

As silence continued to reign, the King finally looked up. Wrinkles had etched deep lines across his large forehead and along his startling blue eyes. Bilbo gulped, avoiding the widening orbs as he continued his perusal. A ragged scar cut down his forehead, across his right eye and ended at the tip of his long nose. The scar was a jolting reminder of all they had been through, though Bilbo did not doubt Thorin bore the mark with pride.

Thorin’s beard was cropped no longer; the curls were bound together tightly under his chin. The table obscured the end of the silver plait, though Bilbo did not doubt its incredible length.

Finally the King stood, jaw opening and closing silently as his bright blue eyes stared at Bilbo in wonderment.

“No, no!” Bilbo called, getting frighteningly closer with each step. “You will sit there and listen to every word I have to say!”

The Hobbit was terrified of hearing the King’s voice. He wondered if it had deepened with age, and how his name would sound with Thorin’s gruff accent. But a part of him knew a single syllable from Thorin’s mouth would be the unraveling of all his built up ire, and that could not happen.

“If you thought you could spend the rest of your life without any kind of retribution – well!” Bilbo laughed dryly, shaking his head. “I sat down and actually _read_ this ridiculous, rambling, illegible _monstrosity_ you had me sign!” As he ranted, he pulled the contract out of his pocket, waving it around as he had so many years ago. “And I must have words with you, Thorin Oakenshield.”

A damnably charming smirk pulled at the King’s lips as he bowed his head graciously, remaining standing.

As Bilbo opened his mouth once more, a voice cut in. “Illegible?”

Bilbo’s jaw snapped shut as he turned to none other than Balin. The Dwarf’s hair was white as ever, though his face was much more lined than the last time Bilbo had laid eyes upon him.

“Ahem,” Bilbo cleared his throat, nose twiddling. “Well, you see, with Dwarvish writing being so different from my people’s –”

The elderly Dwarf chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “Go on, laddie.”

Bilbo nodded sharply, straightening his jacket as he turned back to his target. “You know full well that I was quite overwhelmed that night, what with thirteen Dwarves raiding my larder and practically destroying my house – and I duly noted that your little _contract_ specifies I cannot seek damages for my home! How is that fair, when it is _your people_ who damaged it in the first place?!”

Bilbo’s heart skipped as the King began slowly walking to the end of the table.

“A-And that’s not all, so do not believe for one second you are getting away with anything, King under the Mountain!” he continued on, completely ignoring Thorin’s snort. “A mountain that I helped you to get back, in case you have forgotten. And yet – yet you would have given me the funeral of a _commoner_ had I died trying to help you!” Puffing up his chest, the small Hobbit assumed an air of great dignity. “I am the grandson of the Old Took and my father was a _Baggins._ Do you even know what that means?”

As he looked around the room, all the Dwarves shook their heads solemnly. Rolling his eyes, Bilbo sighed loudly. “It means I’m very _important_ where I come from, whether they appreciate that or not. To think I would have been afforded a pine box! And not even sent back to rest in my homeland – would you even bother to send a letter? Perhaps just _Baggins is dead,_ if you could even remember my name was not _Burglar!”_

As the King opened his mouth to retort – and when had he gotten so close, standing at the end of the carpet? – Bilbo waved his hand furiously. “No, you’ll have a chance to defend yourself when I’m done! Now what’s this about you having the right to change the contract whenever it pleases you? When _I_ would have had to have everything in writing, signed, and witnessed?”

Thorin’s smile grew as he continued towards the Hobbit. “Merely a precaution, Bilbo,” he said, deep voice sending shivers down the small creature’s spine.

“W-Well, well, then,” he stammered. “I – I don’t see why you would need such precautions. After all, there were thirteen of you, and only one of me.”

“Having never met a Hobbit before,” Thorin continued – and he’d really better stop that, right now, Bilbo hadn’t even given him permission! “Forgive me if I exercised all due caution. Given your alluring charms, I am lucky you did not trick me out of my people’s wealth.”

“My – my alluring – what?” Bilbo choked. This was not going according to plan – he had more clauses to sort out, things he needed to say… But Thorin was walking closer and closer, lips curved in a dangerous smile.

“I have missed you, my friend,” Thorin said, finally stopping a mere foot away.

Bilbo swallowed, gaze dropping as he fiddled with his pocket. “Well, good,” he mumbled half-heartedly.

A large hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly against Bilbo’s sleeve, testing, before they enveloped his slender shoulder. Even through his layers, Bilbo could feel the burning heat. As he looked up, Thorin had stepped even closer, head bowed. The teasing smile was replaced with a gentle one, his blue eyes impossibly soft.

“Oh, bother,” Bilbo muttered before springing up on his large toes, throwing an arm around the King’s silver hair, and giving him a sloppy, desperate kiss.

The Dwarves broke out into leering cheers, stomping their feet in celebration. But the King and his Hobbit were deaf to their celebration, pulling away only to hug each other fiercely.

“You’re an idiot,” Bilbo chastised, squeezing his Dwarf all the harder. His voice trembled, throat choked with emotion.

“I am sorry, ghivashel,” Thorin murmured, stroking a hand through Bilbo’s messy curls.

“No, no,” Bilbo said, sniffling as he ran a hand over his nose. “No more apologies.”

“Am I forgiven, then?” Thorin asked, chuckling softly as he brushed his forehead against Bilbo’s.

The Hobbit huffed, rolling his eyes. “Just be thankful you weren’t stupid enough to actually try and add any clauses without informing me.”

“Actually…” Thorin drawled as he pulled away, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I think an addendum is in order after all – Balin!” he called, turning to the Dwarf.

“Aye, my liege,” Balin replied, standing from his seat with a slight groan. “I’ll get right on it.”

“W-What are you talking about?” Bilbo demanded, though the suspiciously grinning King was saved from answering as there came a voice behind him.

“So… This is the Hobbit.”

The approaching Dwarf had long black hair interspersed with silver threads, piercing blue eyes, and a thin, beautifully decorated beard.

Bilbo straightened immediately, hands running down the front of his jacket nervously. “My Lady,” he greeted formally, giving a slight bow to the unmistakable she-Dwarf.

The Lady Dís’ lips curved into welcoming smile as she placed a heavy hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “What took you so long?” she asked, though her warm voice lacked any venom. “My dear brother has been driving everyone insane with his miserable moping.”

“Dís!” Thorin hissed, giving his sister a gentle smack.

Bilbo laughed, reaching out to intertwine his hand with Thorin’s. “I’m here now,” he said, turning to give the King a huge smile. “And I’m not going anywhere.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves: Thorin is embarrassingly schmoopy.

Thorin ended the meeting immediately, pulling Bilbo out of the room and leading him through Erebor's winding halls. His large hand enveloped Bilbo's without hesitation, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

In spite of Thorin's insistent tugging, Bilbo tried his best to take in the beautiful sight of the mountain kingdom. He had never seen Erebor fully restored, and the carved stone walls decorated with streams of precious metal and gems and hand-woven tapestries was truly a sight to behold.

Bilbo was pulled from his awestruck admiration at a loud clang.

"Mister Boggins?"

Bilbo's jaw dropped as he turned to see none other than Kíli staring at him in shock. The Prince's dark beard had finally grown in, but he was unmistakable. 

"Kíli!" Bilbo greeted merrily, coming to a stop.

"Not now!" Thorin growled, pulling Bilbo to his side as he settled his nephew with a fear-inspiring glower.

"But Uncle -" Kíli protested, only to be cut off with a stream of Khuzdul from his impatient King.

"Thorin!" Bilbo scolded, though he had no choice but to allow himself to be pulled along. Silently he promised to make visiting Kíli his second priority after - well, whatever Thorin needed to do so urgently.

Finally pulled into a chamber Bilbo could only assume belonged to the King, the hobbit placed his hands on his hips and settled his long-lost friend with a glare.

"Now what has you in such a hurry?" he huffed, embarrassingly out of breath.

Thorin did not answer, merely staring at Bilbo with a perplexing look of astonishment.

"Too long has it been," Thorin murmured softly, hands cupping Bilbo's cheeks, "Since my eyes have been blessed to look upon your beautiful face."

Bilbo huffed and rolled his eyes, though he was forced to look away as he could not hold back a bashful smile. "I've far too many wrinkles to be considered that," he mumbled.

"Nonsense," Thorin said immediately. Thumb and forefinger grasping Bilbo's chin, he lifted the hobbit's lowered head. "I would marry you," he vowed fiercely, fingers stroking Bilbo's cheek affectionately.

Bilbo licked his lips, examining Thorin's lined face and greying beard and hair. 

"We're much too old for such silliness," he chided gently.

Thorin's heavy brows pulled into a familiar frown. "Were I taking my last breath in this world, I would use it only to pledge my heart to you, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo laughed, somewhat hysterically. "You've grown even more ridiculous and dramatic over the years," he chided.

"Tell me you would have me," Thorin commanded, voice uncomfortably vulnerable.

"Of course I will, you silly dwarf," Bilbo said without hesitation, throwing his arms around Thorin's neck as the dwarf sealed the promise with a desperate kiss.

 

When Balin arrived at Thorin's chambers later that day, he was gifted with the sight of his King curled up with the Hobbit, looking far more at peace than he had - well, perhaps ever. As Balin cleared his throat, Bilbo all but shoved Thorin away, mumbling excuses as his face flushed. Thorin merely smiled at the blushing Hobbit, his gaze gentle and loving.

"I have the amended contract here, Your Majesty," Balin explained, gesturing to the thick bundle of papers in his hand.

Thorin stood immediately, attempting to school his features even as his eyes brightened excitedly.

Bilbo, on the other hand, pinned Thorin with a suspicious glare.

"What contract?" he asked carefully.

"Our marriage contract, of course," Thorin said, as though it were terribly obvious.

"Are you serious?" Bilbo said, jaw almost dropping in disbelief.

"Why, ghivashel, how else are we to wed?" Thorin rebutted.

Bilbo's hand threw up in the air exasperatedly. "Have you learned nothing?" he exclaimed. "I'm not sifting through another dozen pages of complicated laws and rules! We don't need a contract to tell us how to love each other!"

Thorin was silent for a moment, and for a horrendously hopeful moment, Bilbo thought his words may have actually gotten through. Instead the King turned to his advisor, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"Surely it is not twelve pages, Balin?"

Balin opened his mouth to respond, hand raised placatingly. "Well, you see -"

Bilbo groaned, smacking his palm to his forehead as he began to pace agitatedly. 

"Ghivashel, I am the ruler of an entire kingdom," Thorin attempted to explain. "'Tis no simple thing to wed. There is protocol to follow, agreements to be made -"

"Do you love me?"

Thorin froze, expression slackening in shock before twisting into an accusing frown. "How can you ask such a thing?" he accused, as though the question itself was mortally wounding. 

"Do you love me?" Bilbo repeated through painfully clenched teeth. 

"Yes, Bilbo, I love -"

Bilbo held up a hand before Thorin could waste any more time with another dramatic proclamation. "Then why must it be more complicated than that?"

"As his Majesty has already said," Balin began, only to join Thorin in being silenced by an impatient hobbit.

"Balin, ask Thorin if he will take me as his husband," he ordered. As the advisor failed to repeat it immediately, Bilbo settled him with a fierce glare. It was the same one he used on greedy, nosey relatives, especially a certain Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

"Thorin, do you take Bilbo as your husband?" he asked.

Thorin side-eyed the hobbit suspiciously before finally inclining his head. "Yes," he agreed, though his tone was wary.

"And Bilbo, you take Thorin as your husband?"

"I do!" Bilbo chirped merrily, bouncing towards the King and pressing on the tips of his large toes. He pressed a quick peck to Thorin's lips, rolling his eyes at Thorin's sputtered a scandalized " _ Bilbo!" _ as though they not kissed moments ago in a chamber filled with dozens of witnesses.

"There!" Bilbo exclaimed, awarding both dwarfs with a triumphant grin. "By the traditions of my people, Thorin and I are lawfully wed!"

The two dwarfs were utterly silent, exchanging horrified, nonplussed looks. 

"Surely it cannot be so simple, laddie?" Balin asked. 

"Of course it is!" Bilbo countered. "What more do two people need to get married, save for mutual regard and genuine consent?"

"Off the top of my head?" Balin asked. "Agreeing on vital aspects such as inheritance, offspring, division of property and assets, vows of monogamy, untimely death, promising to treat each other with all due respect and care -"

"Do you really need a clause for how to treat each other?" Bilbo asked in shock. "What hogwash! I love Thorin; no one needs to tell me how to treat him as he deserves."

Especially since he deserved a good chastising every now and again, though that was neither here nor there.

"It is not necessarily a need to enforce a standard of spousal treatment," Balin continued, "But rather having a law that will punish those with ill intent towards their spouse, and protect citizens from harm."

Bilbo hummed, lips quirking to the side as he contemplated.

"Ghivashel," Thorin interrupted, coming to stand in front of Bilbo. He grabbed Bilbo's hands, gently rubbing his time-worn skin. "I understand you feel cheated from the Quest, but the ways of my people cannot be ignored. I am happy to wed by Shire standards, but dwarvish protocol must be followed as well."

Bilbo sighed, looking away from the earnest pleading on Thorin's desperate expression.

"Drat it all," he jumbled, turning back to give Thorin a conspiratorial smile. "I hope to be fully compensated for my time," he warned playfully. 

Thorin grinned ruefully, squeezing Bilbo's hands. "Of course, âzyungâl," he promised. "I will shower you with the most beautiful gems you have ever seen."

Thorin turned away, walking towards his advisor to discuss the terms. Bilbo merely gaped at his retreating back. "That's not what I meant!" he cried.

Bilbo rubbed a weary hand over his face, wondering how in Eru's name he could survive in a mountain full of dwarves. But as looked up, watching Thorin gestured emphatically in fierce debate, his blue eyes blazing with passion, his silver hair framing his face in beautiful waves, Bilbo realized that the sacrifice was nothing compared to what he was gaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! I am on tumblr under the same name :)

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzd: dwarf. Buhêl: friend of all friends. Basically mushed together to make “dwarf-friend,” forgive me.  
> A glory box (AKA hope chest) was used by young women to put items such as clothing, linen, cloths, etc. in preparation for marriage.  
> The objects described are what I could discern from the opening scene of AUJ. The contract is described from Weta’s prop replica, and Bilbo’s direct quotes are taken from the contract. The prop replica is 5.5 feet long.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "The Fine Print" by Airebellah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779254) by [penumbria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/pseuds/penumbria)




End file.
